


Hope You Know What This Means

by raquetgirl



Series: The Emotion [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Iris Is An Idiot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9446603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquetgirl/pseuds/raquetgirl
Summary: It’s completely disarming, and probably something she should interrogate later with her therapist, but she melts immediately under his heated gaze.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Auish. Season 2ish. Together but not together. Iris POV.

Iris knows the girl is long gone, but when Barry ducks his head with a smirk and taps out some words on his phone, she realizes he’s still texting Patty. Patty, who’s gone to Midway but clearly can’t let go of an adorable boy in Central City.

Barry’s narrow cheeks color, and he rubs the back of his neck in that way that Iris always associates with diffidence, and with sweetness, and a little bit with his face after she’s gotten him off. There’s a remnant of a smile on his mouth that she doesn’t quite like. She tries not to look at him and perches herself on the edge of Caitlin’s desk while talking over the latest odd activity centered at the breaches between their earth and Earth-2. Cait is sure that there’s a way to seal them even though Harry and Cisco think that’s besides the point. Iris cares—she does—but she can’t help tracking Barry with her eyes, watching the way he shoves his hands into his pockets when he’s under stress.

The stress is Zoom, but not all Zoom, she’s sure. It’s Patty too.

A quiet sigh escapes her. Iris knows she doesn’t have the right to be jealous. She’s resisted committing to a relationship, distracting Barry whenever he attempts to bring it up, because if she learned one thing in therapy, it’s this: When Iris West makes a promise, she doesn’t break it. She’s completely unable to alter a course of action once decided. Once she agrees to be with Barry, that’ll be it.

She won’t commit and she doesn’t have the right to be jealous. But she is anyway.

Buzz in her blazer pocket reminds Iris that she has to get back to the newsroom for the late shift, a favor to the girl who works overnights. “Here.” She uncrosses her legs and rises to thrust a tablet at Barry’s chest, maybe too forcefully, but it gets him to drop his phone on the table and look at her for the first time in an hour. Surprise in his eyes, and something else. She used to be able to identify it as love but now it’s more complicated.

“Hey—thanks,” he’s looking at the screen of the tablet now, speed-reading the information Caitlin has dug up. “I wonder if...” And now he’s dropping into a seat before one of the computers, tapping at the keyboard while Cait and Cisco hover over him.

His suggestion to reduce the 52 breaches to one or two was exactly what she was thinking, and the others immediately start theorizing how to pull that off. This is where Iris feels limited—she can find information, she can come up with ideas, and she can evaluate liars, but she’s not a hard scientist like Caitlin or Cisco or Barry. Cait, Harry, and Cisco have already rushed out of the Cortex and are headed for Cisco’s workshop anyway.

No one will notice if she leaves, and she edges toward the hallway.

But of course Barry does.

“Where are you headed?” He’s swiveling away from the machine with a curious, flirtatious grin on his face that makes her heart flutter until she notices the phone in his hand.

“Back to the office.” 

His mouth opens in surprise, and Iris knows she sounds cold and hates herself for it. 

She softens. “I owe Liz. She covered for me when Trajectory...” a shrug says the rest.

“Ah.”

The silence makes her wince.

“Barr—”

“Iris—”

They both laugh a little.

“What time are you off?” His smile melts into something warmer. “Can I see you?”

“Five.” She pauses before fixing her eyes on him. “In the morning. I’ll probably need coffee at some point...”

“I’ll bring you coffee. Promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Flash.” But Iris is smiling as she slips away, feeling okayish for the first time since she saw him texting Patty. 

\------

Turns out, it’s the busiest night shift anyone can remember since the particle accelerator explosion. Zoom’s metas are always more active after dark, but tonight it’s like they’re hopped up on something — running from location to location, and because people know to stay home at night, they’re mostly causing property damage at public buildings like the handful of 24-hour gas stations and diners. 

Iris is both reporter and editor on duty, and is trying to coordinate two junior staffers -- one in the office and one in the field -- when Scott arrives around 1 a.m., just a bit bleary eyed. It’s the first time Iris hasn’t seen him in a suit. His jeans and faded Met U t-shirt aren’t ... _unappealing_ , though. 

He also has a coffee for her, three shots of espresso and hot milk, and a shrug. “I was getting one for myself...”

She chooses not to notice that he remembered her order and acknowledges the white paper cup he places beside her computer with a slight smile and a nod.

He quickly takes over, calling Karen, the rookie on the waterfront, and coaching her through the steps of filing string — and guides Etan, the intern in the office, as he writes it up. After, he calls a couple of the veterans to get out of bed and drag themselves into the office to pitch in.

It’s easy to forget how young Scott is because he is so competent. His willingness to get in it — to run the play — may be why. “A source familiar with the matter says the metahumans may be attracted to fluorescent light.’” Scott’s voice is low as he reads her copy over her shoulder. “Who’s your source?”

Caitlin’d emailed her 15 minutes ago. Fluorescent light was banned on E-2 and something about it was making the metas frisky. “A scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs.” 

The sound in his throat isn’t disapproving, exactly.

“Call CCPD and ask them if they can confirm that’s true, then let’s get it up.”

Iris is already reaching for the phone, Singh’s direct line on her fingertips.

“And West?”

She glances back at Scott. “Yep?”

“Nice job. Maybe we should keep you on overnights.”

An eyeroll serves as her response.

Scott’s chuckle warms her as he settles at a nearby vacant desk.

After three tries, Singh answers the phone, reams Iris out for calling his personal line, and answers approximately a tenth of her questions. By the end of the call she’s got a solid story that includes theories about what the _fuck_ the metas are on.

It’s on the CCPN site within half an hour.

Barry never does show up. She can’t blame him, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t disappointed.

\---

Iris wakes at 11 a.m., which is not enough sleep at all, but if she stays in bed any longer, her body will start to protest. She apparently undressed in a fugue state, because all she’s wearing is a long white t-shirt from CCPD that is missing its sleeves, and a pair of cotton panties. She sets her feet on the smooth, worn, wood floor of her apartment, blinking a bit at the sunlight flooding her apartment. There aren’t any buildings looking into her fifth-floor walkup, so she hasn’t bothered to put up any curtains and at present, her place is bright and white with green plants spilling over in every available corner. She squats and brushes her fingertips over glossy green leaves.

Lifting the occasional plant pot, assessing others with her eyes, Iris makes a mental map of who needs water and who can go without as she wanders into the living area. She’s at her coffee maker before she notices the dark red figure asleep on the sofa.

He hasn’t even removed his cowl, and Iris sighs, pouring coffee grounds into the filter. Instead, it’s skewed, half on, half off his face. An observer might think he was dead, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest, and his biggest tell: the fingers on the hand hanging off the sofa curl in occasionally. At least his gloves are off.

Iris rests her butt against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew, and watches him. His phone is on the floor, near his hand, and it lights. She doesn’t go to look at it. Instead, she waits. When the coffee's done, she turns deliberately to the cabinet, pulls down the mugs Joe gave her when she moved out, and shakes sugar into them. Then half-and-half. And then coffee.

She places one mug on the floor next to his phone, then walks to her picture window with another mug in hand, looking at the buildings in the distance. Central City is gray this morning, its skyscrapers disappearing into the fog. Fall is coming.

One sip.

One more sip.

She turns back to watch him. Barry is still deeply asleep, she can tell by how slowly he’s breathing. His phone lights again. Before she can stop herself, Iris is crouching beside him, setting her mug on the floor, and lifting the device. And more quickly than she’s willing to acknowledge, she’s gently, gently, pressing the pad of his index finger to the button that unlocks the phone.

Iris West is an investigative reporter, is all.

It’s unlocked. The red bubble says there are 11 unread messages. Another tap reveals that three are from Cisco, two are from her dad, one is from Barry’s phone carrier, and five are from Patty.

She locks the phone, and places is where it was, shaking a little.

Barry shifts, then wakes. He tends to wake up suddenly, she’d noticed a few months after the coma. One moment he’s deeply asleep, the next he’s completely alert.

“Hey.” His gaze is sharp but his voice is groggy. He pushes the cowl fully from his face, hair sticking up at all angles.

“Hey.” Her whisper matches his, and she settles into a cross legged pose, facing him as he turns toward her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you coffee.” He stretches the length of the sofa, resting his head on a leather-sheathed arm.

“‘S’okay.” She’s only just seeing a fading bruise on his cheek. It must have been bad if it’s just healing now. “What was it like out there?”

“Crazy.” He looks down at the cup on the floor. “This for me?”

“Yep.” Iris smiles softly. 

His phone lights again.

_One New Message: Patty Spivot._

Barry doesn’t say anything but he flips the phone to face down.

He hasn’t touched his coffee. “How was your night?”

“Crazy.” She won’t give him more, not until he explains.

“Patty’s having trouble adjusting to Midway.” It’s an offer.

“I see.”

“I’ve been trying to be friendly. She’s...”

“She misses you.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Honestly?”

Iris scoffs and stands abruptly, coffee sloshing over the side of her mug, leaving milky drops on the floor and on Barry. Her “sorry” is tossed back at him as she places the mug in the sink. She looks down into the chipped enamel basin that the owner hasn’t replaced in about 30 years.

He’s behind her immediately, close enough that she can feel the heat from his body. “Iris.”

“What, Barry?” It’s not a question, not really. And she hates how ugly she sounds right now, treating him like a criminal because she hasn’t had the good sense to try and define this relationship even though she’s sucked his dick and he’s kissed her in secret hallways at STAR Labs, and she’s hopelessly in love with him, and is hoping he’s in love with her too.

“Patty is my friend.” His voice is low. “Of course I miss her.”

“What about me?”

“What? Iris—” And then his hands are on her back, heavy and warm and rubbing her shoulder blades. “You are...”

“I’m what?” She turns to face him. “I’m what, Barry?” Her hands grip the counter. He’s close enough that she can smell the coffee she spilled on him.

Then suddenly she’s not in the kitchen, anymore. She’s on her back, in her bed, and Barry’s hovering over her. It’s completely disarming, and probably something she should interrogate later with her therapist, but she melts immediately under his heated gaze.

But he hesitates until she smiles a little at him, and then he visibly relaxes. “You,” he punctuates with a kiss to her jaw. “Are.” Another kiss to her collarbone over her cotton shirt. “My Iris.” His hand reaches for the hem and he looks up at her from below his damnably long lashes. “Should I stop?”

She shakes her head. “No.” It’s a breath, and this—this is all she wants. Barry above her, pressing his mouth to her skin and looking at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Good.” His voice is muffled by his lips on her skin, chasing her hemline as he pushes it up her belly. He kisses the underside of her left breast softly, circling it with soft pecks and licks. “I have a lot of work to do here.”

Iris’s brain turns off when he traces her nipple with his tongue. It’s Barry, pressing her down into her bed, laying her out underneath his mouth, his callused fingertips lighting up her nerve endings. Her hips rise involuntarily, seeking friction, and he rises so that she can open her legs and wrap them around him, rubbing without thinking. The leather of the suit — he’s still dressed — is pleasantly rough against her clit through her panties.

Breathy laugh from Barry as he kisses a hard suck in the valley between her breasts. “You need me?”

Iris can’t form a full sentence. And, frustratingly, he’s getting further away, not closer. Then she’s panting, and he’s pulling her to the edge of the bed, sliding to his knees on the floor. 

He’s grinning, that plush mouth inches above her. “Hm?”

Her hips buck, and he takes advantage of the movement, pulling her panties down and off. 

And then he stops completely. “What do you want?” It’s a murmur, dark and low and she feels the heat of his breath. 

Iris tries to shake the fog clouding her head, because he’s not moving and she needs him to move, to do something, to give her ... something.

“Barr—”

“Do.” Kiss to the skin of her inner thigh. “You.” The other thigh. “Want.” Another to the skin of her lower belly. “Me.” The circuit finishes with him so close to where she needs him.

Iris feels like she can’t breathe, but she chokes out an answer. “Y-yes. Need you. Please Barry.”

Barry. The part of her brain that is still online reminds her this is the boy she’s known all her life, but instead of making her shy it opens her up to him in a way she’s never before experienced, not with any of the boys she’s fucked before. It’s the safest she’s ever felt during sex. And her whimper should be incredibly embarrassing but she begs “please” again as he presses a kiss to her mound, before nosing lower and kissing her lips open. Iris completely loses the plot when he starts to lick, slowly and firmly. She feels warm and slick and she’s throbbing and it’s overwhelming and she can’t stop moving, even after Barry throws a suited arm over her belly, holding her down. From her vantage point, all she can see is red leather — sorry, reinforced something or other — and his messy chestnut hair.

Then his mouth starts to vibrate.

Iris is — falling through the mattress? Dying. Surely dying. Maybe she’s dead already and is up in heaven because Barry’s mouth on her feels better than anything she could ever have imagined. 

She feels the vibrations everywhere. In her thighs and in her toes, up her torso and over her tits, shivering over the skin of her arms, and down her fingertips. Distantly, she hears a loud sound, and even more distantly recognizes it as herself, moaning and calling his name.

His mouth is _relentless_ , pushing her closer to the edge of sanity; the muscles in her thighs are tense, her toes are curling, and she’s gripping the sheets. She hears her moans, her pants, and somewhere, far away, a whine: “Barry...”

At that exact moment, he slides two fingers into her, pumping once, twice, three times and she’s coming, hard and messy and loud and fast.

It takes some time to come back to herself. 

Barry stays on the floor; she can hear him panting too. She feels completely boneless, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. “I—” but she can’t finish the sentence, doesn’t know how. She’s never felt like this before.

He laughs softly. “Hmm?” 

She can hear him but she can’t see him. Can’t really even open her eyes. “Barr.”

The bed shakes, and he’s resting an elbow on the mattress. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t _say anything_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m the fastest man alive, but I can’t keep up with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auish. Season 2ish. Together but not together. Iris POV.
> 
> Resolution. Conversations and smut. My three favorite things.

_Now._

On early winter afternoons, when it’s clear out, a bolt of sun angles into the picture windows at CCPN just so, and sends a shaft of light across the newsroom and over Iris’s desk to immediately warm her skin. Sometimes she gets another cup of coffee quickly, reseats herself, and tilts her face to bask in it; other times she’s racing a deadline, but she always pauses for a moment to enjoy the warmth.

Today, the sun feels cold, even though there are no clouds in the sky. And luckily, Iris has no deadline in front of her — otherwise she’d surely blow it. She’s been staring into space all day.

“West!” Scott is calling her name like he’s said it a half-dozen times in succession. Maybe he has. 

She looks up at him and shakes herself. “Yep?”

“I’ve been calling you—” he mutters, cutting himself off. “Double-homicide in Leawood. Texting you the address.”

“On it.” Iris shrugs on her coat and shoves her phone and keys in her pocket. 

Outside, Central City is doing its most unforgiving impression of a city in mid-winter. The streets and sidewalks are white with salt, anticipating snowfall, and her boots crunch as she walks to her car. The air is bitter cold and painfully dry, and she loops her scarf around her neck again.

Still, she’s glad to have something to do, to distract her from the completely disastrous conversation she’d had with Barry that she keeps replaying in her head. 

It’s only as she’s turning the key in the ignition that it occurs to her he’s likely to be at the crime scene.

\----

_Four days ago..._

“Barr?” Iris can feel herself smiling, even as she’s catching her breath from the truly stunning orgasm Barry has just given her. “Did you hear me?” She sits up, looking down at him. 

He’s sitting on the wood floor, leaning against the side of the mattress, still dressed in his suit, hair a mess, still breathing heavily.

“Barry?”

His silence continues, but she can see his shoulders tense under the red leather. One of his hands reaches in the direction of her foot, but stops.

“Barr.”

Finally he turns his head, eyes meeting hers, with an utterly desolate look on his face. “Why did you say that?”

Her heart stutters. “Say—what?”

“That you love me.”

\----

_Now._

Maybe Barry won’t be there. Maybe there’s a God up in the sky, still looking out for Iris Ann West, the way He did when she fell off the top of the pyramid in cheerleading senior year and only broke her wrist, not her neck.

Iris gets out of her car, cautiously. She sees her dad in the distance, talking with one of the younger detectives. She sees the usual hubbub of cops and a paramedic or two, and a couple of bystanders. Technically, she’s a bystander too, but she sidles up to the yellow caution tape and calls out to one of the rookies. Lila Guerrero. Iris knows Guerrero thinks she’s attractive, she’d heard her say as much at CCPD when she thought Iris couldn’t hear. 

“How’s tricks?” Iris tries for a slow, lazy grin. She’d never sleep with a source (and, yes, okay, there’s Barry, but he never _actually_ tells her anything for her stories....) — still, a bit of friendly flirting is fair game.

“Hey Iris.” The rookie smiles a little, warily. “Your dad warned me about talking to you.”

“Oh?” She widens her smile a notch. “But I’m such a good conversation partner.”

“Uh huh.” Guerrero leans over the tape a little, breath puffing white in the cold air. “I can’t tell you much, honestly. I only just got here, and the CSI is late. Looks like a pretty straightforward double...”

Iris nods politely but her mind is already racing. A late CSI has to be Barry. She dutifully takes notes, while edging toward the cop car nearby. Maybe she can listen to the scanner and avoid Barry at the same time.

He arrives suddenly, skidding to a stop thirty feet away where no one else is looking, obviously having used his powers, and heads straight for Joe. He seems...miserable. She knows that hunch in his shoulders, that hangdog look. From her distance, she can make out a smear of shadow under his eyes. 

Good, he hasn’t been sleeping either.

Still, he looks handsome. Wool coat with the collar turned up, and when he drops to his knees to lift the white tarpaulin off one of the bodies she can see he’s wearing the pearl gray sweater she got him for his birthday last year. It’s very soft.

Barry works quietly, circling the body, taking samples and putting notes in his notebook, while Joe looks down at him, a troubled expression crossing his face. Iris has been avoiding her dad for that exact reason: he always knows when something is wrong.

\----

_Four days ago..._

“I thought we were—having fun?” She’s confused, bordering on nervous, and slips down to the floor beside him, the wood slightly cool under her bare ass. “What did I miss?”

He studies his hands, and she looks at them too. Freckles dot them, and she flashes back to a few nights ago, when she was on her knees and he was stuffing one fist in his mouth as she swallowed him down. His other hand had been curling heavily in her hair.

“You’re my best friend.” She turns more fully toward him, knee nudging his suited thigh. “Of course I love you.”

“Are you backtracking?” He’s looking straight ahead, not at her, not at anything.

“What?” She says it slowly, looking down. Yes, she is backtracking, the way she always does when she gets to close to this. An orgasm-driven _I love you_ is never not a bad idea.

“Are you saying you love me like a friend, or like...” He gestures at himself, then her.

“It’s not as simple as that.” Iris rests her head against the mattress and sighs. This is what it keeps coming back to. Every time she thinks the lack of definition of their _arrangement_ is okay for both of them, he pushes her to create lines.

Neither of them speaks for a few minutes. Finally he hauls himself to his feet, not even looking at her as he walks toward the living room, grabbing his gloves from a side table and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Iris is overly aware of how she sounds, loud and needy in her silent apartment.

He doesn’t answer her, but he speeds out, and she hates him for using his powers just when she’s thinking about trying.

\----

_Now..._

Iris gets statements from the PIO on duty, a couple of off-the-record comments from some other cops, and jots down a few witnesses statements too. But it seems to be what Guerrero said: run-of-the-mill double homicide. Leawood isn’t the safest part of town.

If Barry has noticed her, he hasn’t shown it, consulting with Joe’s new partner and the paramedic on the scene about some piece of evidence. Iris had about enough of the cold, and she’s turning to go when her dad approaches.

“Hey baby.”

“Daddy.” She kisses his offered cheek. “How’s it going?”

“Looks like you got plenty of info.” His smile is a little wry as he points at her phone, recording app clearly open.

She can’t help but laugh a little, shrugging her shoulder. “I’m always open to more leaks...”

“I’m all dried up.” Joe’s voice is warm, but it drops a little. “I’m also glad there aren’t any metas involved in this case. We’ve had our hands full.”

“Tell me about it.” She sobers. “How’s—” she starts to say “Barry” but stops herself.

“What’s going on with you and Barry?” Joe’s brow is furrowed, and he crosses his arms the way he does when he’s expecting her to withhold the truth. “I’m not blind, Iris. I know everything ain’t okay with you two. You’ve both been looking like you lost your best friend.”

“It’s... complicated.” Iris looks over at Barry, who’s clearly seen her by now, but is keeping his distance. There’s not really a good way to tell her father that they’ve been hooking up for months, though part of her wonders if he already knows.

“Iris, the last thing I want to do is get mixed up in your personal business—” Joe gestures at her and over at Barry, and then looks at her, evaluating. “And I can appreciate ‘complicated,’ but there’s one piece of advice I’ve always given you that I think you could use now.”

Iris drags her eyes away from Barry to look at her father. “What’s that?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” With that, he pulls her in with one arm for a brief hug, before ducking back under the yellow tape.

\----

There’s a glass of wine, half-drunk, by Iris’s computer. She pauses a moment to stretch, flexing her bare toes and tugging off the STAR Labs sweatshirt she’d been wearing. The heat in her apartment is unpredictable — jeans and a tank top are all she can stand once it kicks in. 

Snow is falling silently outside, and she pauses to watch it come down before going back to typing, nearly done with the story on the Leawood murders. Evidence from the scene ties them to a homicide a couple of weeks ago. _Thanks for the tip, Guerrero._ Iris ought to buy her a coffee sometime.

She’s sending a draft link to the night editor, when there’s a tap on the door. Send.

Iris makes her way to the door, knowing it can only be one person, and having her suspicion confirmed when she opens it.

Barry comes inside, shoulders drooping and mouth turned unhappily.

Iris studies him a moment, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn’t she heads back to the kitchen table and picks up her glass of wine. She turns to face him, leaning against the table and waits.

“What do you want me to say, Iris?” He comes more fully into the room, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

She laughs at this, a harsh, barking sound. “I’m sorry, but the person who leaves without an explanation is usually the first to speak.”

“You keep pushing me away!” Barry hasn’t raised his voice at her since they were in high school, probably, when they were both hormonal and prickly and getting on each other’s nerves at the drop of a hat.

“I tell you I love you and you say I’m pushing you away?” Iris sets her glass down and advances on him. “You’re actually delusional, Barry Allen.”

“You don’t know what you want!” He’s looking down at her, two tiny red points on his cheeks. “You never define this. Every time I ask you, you just—”

“I—what?” Iris knows she’s in his space, knows it’s making him uncomfortable, but she presses forward.

“You run circles around me!” He pushes past her, breaking the spell. “I’m the fastest man alive, but I can’t keep up with you.”

Iris falls silent.

“I want to be with you.” He says it quietly, facing her picture window, his tall, lean figure framed by green plants and the city skyline. “Full time. All the time. Holding hands in public, and kissing you hello when we see each other at work, going to sleep curled around you, showing up at Joe’s together for Sunday dinner with a good bottle of wine, and, and all of it.”

He’s never laid out what he wants so plainly. “Why have you never said that before?” Iris moves toward him, almost involuntarily. 

He turns, anguish distorting his expression in the half-light. “Eddie.”

It’s not—an answer. And yet it raises every question Iris has been afraid of broaching since they started this slow dance around each other. 

She breathes out slowly, looking at him, before speaking. “Sometimes, when I let myself admit it, I know what would have happened if Eddie had lived.” Iris moves closer to Barry, in reach of him, but she won’t reach for him. “I was ready to make a commitment to him, Barry.”

Barry groans. “I know—and I cared about Eddie, too, Iris. I don’t mean—”

“No, Barry. I was ready to make a _commitment_ to him, even though my heart, it belonged to you.” She sighs, turning away from him. “He’d have left me, eventually. I wouldn’t have left him for you. But I would have broken his heart. You were all I could think about, even when I was going crazy over him being missing. I was so glad to have him back, even for a few minutes, and I loved him—” she can feel tears tracking down her cheeks. “I did. But you would have come first.”

“Iris.” His hand on her shoulder, turning her back toward him. “Iris.”

“I felt so ashamed.” She drops her head, beginning to sob. “I didn’t deserve him.”

Barry’s shedding his heavy coat, tossing it onto the sofa before pulling her into the circle of his arms, his lips pressing to her forehead.

“Is that what’s holding you back now?” His voice is a quiet, broken whisper above her head. “...from me?”

She doesn’t answer, just presses her face into the soft sweater she gave him. He rubs her back while she cries, eventually gathering her up into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom, and pulling her into his lap. He kisses the top of her head, her exposed cheek, and murmurs words she can only half hear but that bring her comfort.

Maybe an hour passes. Iris feels Barry’s heart beating slowly, and she times her breath to it. Her denim-clad legs are laying over his and one hand smooths her back while the other rubs her calf.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Barry.” She’s snuffling against his shoulder, and he slides a hand under her chin, pushing her to look at him. 

“I know that, probably more than anyone, Iris.”

“No—I mean—” she pulls away, shifting upward and placing a hand on his chest. “Eddie broke up with me after you found him.”

“What?” Barry’s pulling back to look at her carefully.

“He broke up with me — he told me that there were three people in our relationship. Him, me, and—and you.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was short-lived. We got back together just before he, he sacrificed himself. You were leaving us, to go back to fix your past and save your mom, and I was trying so hard to convince him that I wanted him and only him that I guess I managed to convince myself.”

His only response is pulling her closer.

“My grief for him was complicated by guilt about wanting you.”

“Iris—I’m so sorry I’ve been pushing you if you’re not ready.”

“No, it’s not that.” She sighs, and pulls out of his arms, bouncing a little on the mattress to sit cross-legged and facing him. She reaches for his hands. “I’ve mourned Eddie. I’ll always miss him, but that chapter of my life is finished, and I’m okay with that. What I’ve been struggling with is that when it comes to you, once I say yes to this, to you, that’s it.”

“Why are you struggling with that?”

“Because I made that promise once before, when I wasn’t ready.”

“And now?”

“I’m ready. I’m ready to be with you. I’ve just been scared to admit it. And, I guess, I feel guilty for making you wait.” She looks at him steadily. “I promise I won’t hurt you again. I love you, Barry Allen. I always will.”

His eyes search her face. “I love you, Iris. And I trust you.” And he’s leaning forward, and squeezing her hands with a little grin. “Unless, there’s some other guy waiting in the wings...”

Iris laughs for the first time in what feels like weeks. “Nope. Unless you count the guy who makes my latte every morning.”

“It’s that good?” His smile is roguish.

“I like my milk like I like my men. Hot—”

“—and foamy?” And he’s pulling her forward and tumbling her onto her back and they’re giggling.

Iris leans up to kiss him, slowly, softly. “Are we okay?”

“Are you my girlfriend?” His eyes are serious, but there’s a humor in his mouth, and a little bit of that Flash swagger that always makes her heart speed up just a tiny bit.

She nods, kissing him again.

“Then we’re good.”

\----

They end up holding each other close and whispering for hours. Iris is nestled in Barry’s arms, turned in toward him, bumping her nose over his chin as he laughs softly. 

“So, the Patty thing?” His voice is a low whisper, and his index finger is tracing unidentifiable patterns over the bare skin of her arm. “Were you really jealous?”

She huffs a sigh. “I mean, yes, I don’t like that another girl was texting you, but I wasn’t really jealous. I was more mad that I didn’t have the right to bring it up.” Iris looks up at him, and he’s looking down at her, intently.

“Even if we weren’t... this, you always have the right — you’ve always had a claim on me, Iris.” Barry kisses her gently, pecking lightly at her top lip, and pulling her tightly to him. “Always.” 

Barry’s mouth presses against hers more firmly, tongue tracing the seam of her lips, and slipping inside when she opens her mouth. It’s a deep, possessive kiss. Which is not a thing Iris ever thought she’d find hot — but maybe because it’s combined with his sweetness, and his pride in her, and it’s all the years they’ve known each other — something in her stomach rolls in pleasure.

His hands get heavier as he drags them over her skin and Iris lets him lead, sensing that he needs control. His mouth is burning her skin as it touches off her nerves, and in seconds Iris is dizzy. They’re wriggling out of their jeans, and he’s pulling off her shirt roughly and she’s shoving his sweater up and over his head and then she’s just in a flimsy black lace bra and panties and he’s in cranberry-colored boxers.

It’s never felt like this between them before. Hooking up has been hot, and playful, and urgent — but Iris has never felt this weighty need before. She’s never needed him on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress as his hands roam over her body. She pulls him closer, as he brings a knee between her legs, pressing it against her.

Her corresponding moan must set something off in Barry, because he’s got a hand on her ass and he’s tugging her tighter, deliberately encouraging her to rub herself against him. “Missed you.” It’s a messy murmur against her ear.

Iris can’t think, every part of her tingling, seeking closeness. She’s undulating her hips, rocking herself against him, rolling in slow circles to give her clit the pressure it needs. His hands are sliding under her back, and her bra pops open, startling her into a laugh.

“Smooth, Flash.” But her smile evaporates as he dips his mouth to her left breast, biting gently. His free hand rubs slowly over her other breast, circling the pebbling nipple there. His fingers buzz just slightly and Iris can’t help another moan crossing her lips.

He drags his mouth over to her other breast, sucking gently everywhere but her nipple. “Barr—” her voice stutters. 

“Hm?” His pale eyes are suddenly dark, intent written on his face. He doesn’t stop, one hand vibrating gently against one breast, his mouth teasing the other. Finally he sucks the tip of her breast into his mouth and Iris jerks against him. She’s so, so close.

She reaches a hand down between them, feeling her soaked-through panties and the warm, wet spot she’s left on Barry’s boxers. He pushes her hand away, and she grips the edge of the mattress as he palms her mound. Then he’s pulling his mouth off of her breast and moving up, sliding his tongue into her mouth, so wet and warm, and kissing her so determinedly she doesn’t notice he’s pulled her panties off until one of his fingers is rubbing at the seam of her pussy. 

Iris moans, a low, desperate sound.

He pauses his movements, blurrily whispering in her ear. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re k-killing me.” It’s a whine, she know it, but can’t bring herself to care as she presses herself into his hand. “...please?”

“‘Please’ what?” His voice is low and his hand is warm against her and so close to where she needs it. 

“Please touch me.” She’s gasping. As lanky as he is, the Speed Force has also made Barry muscle-dense: he’s heavy on top of her, and she can’t get leverage to move herself against him the way she wants.

“What’s my name?” His voice is deeper than she’s ever heard it before.

“Bar—” 

He shakes his head, moving his fingers slowly over her, and not at all where she needs them. “What’s. My. Name.” Barry bites her earlobe for emphasis.

She’s panting now, dripping wet and aching unbearably and Iris could maybe come just from the promise in his voice. “F-Flash.”

He groans and his hips buck against hers involuntarily, and the distraction gives her the leverage she needs to rub herself against his fingers. It’s ecstasy multiplied when he starts circling her clit. “Good girl.” His voice is breathless, and pleased and dark as he whispers to her while she fruitlessly circles her hips against his hand. “Can you come like this?”

“I—I don’t—I don’t know—” Iris is gasping, trying to clear her head enough to answer. They haven’t done this before, mostly sticking to heavy makeout sessions that end with his mouth on her, or hers on him.

“I want to see you come, Iris.” He’s grunting from the effort of keeping himself above her while working her slowly. “I _need_ to see you.” His fingers slip inside her, just a little, frustratingly. “You’re so wet for me.”

Iris reaches up to drag his mouth down to hers. Something about his tongue, lips, and teeth attacking her mouth, depriving her of oxygen, while his fingers start to vibrate against her pussy completely sets her off. She can hear herself moaning, fully out of control, undulating against him—and he’s driving his fingers deeper into her while his thumb hums against her clit and he’s sucking on her bottom lip, and yes, yes this is exactly what she’s needed for her entire life without knowing it.

He’s chanting in her ear as her orgasm spirals closer and closer. “Yes, baby. _Fuck_. So wet for me. Please...come for me—yes, yes, yes...” 

Iris is aware of his hardness against her hip and somehow that’s the thought that does her in—feeling how badly he wants her sends her right over the edge, shuddering and crying out his name.

“So good, baby.” Barry’s praising her, kissing her brow, her cheeks, and her mouth. She tastes salt on his lips, and reaches up to touch her face, where there are tears she didn’t notice falling. He keeps murmuring to her as she comes down, and she presses her face into his chest, and, okay, Iris is apparently into praise, too, because she’s feeling warmth curl through her belly, yet again. 

After a moment, she pulls back and drags Barry’s hand up; it’s wet and slick from being inside her. She brings his middle finger to her mouth and licks once, tentatively. It’s salty-sour-sweet and she locks eyes with him as his breathing grows shallow. His eyes darken further as she sucks his finger into her mouth, knuckle by knuckle.

Barry doesn’t let her keep control for long. He pulls his finger from her mouth, and she releases him with a pop and an attempt at a sexy smile. He captures her lips again, pushing her onto her back and settling in between her thighs. 

At some point in the proceedings — probably when she was panting her way through recovery— he must super speeded his boxers away and found a condom because his hardness is pressed right against her, where she’s wet and wanting. She shimmies against him, encouragingly.

Barry lifts his hips up, and reaches down between them, taking himself in his hand and rubbing the tip of his sheathed cock against her slick entrance. “Not too sensitive?” It’s a bitten-out whisper that makes Iris’s heart swell. 

“Nuh-uh.” She bites her lip, looking down between them, wanting to watch. 

But Iris can only keep her eyes open for a moment, though, the feeling of him entering her inch by inch is so overwhelming she has to toss her head back as she takes him in. She’s so wet that Barry slides in frictionlessly, but his size still makes her flutter around him. He groans at the movement of her internal walls. “Iris...”

“Yes, Flash?” She’s recovered enough to say it with a little laugh that pulls him up short — he give her a boyish grin that makes her stomach drop. It’s the opposite of his reaction earlier, and somehow is even sexier.

Then his arms are underneath her, supporting him as he starts to move. He’s laughing and murmuring something about her teasing him and they’re both giggling and rocking against each other slowly. 

He’s kissing her mouth leisurely as he thrusts into her, and the warmth spirals up between them until Iris needs more. She pulls back from him, slightly. “Can you, um...?”

“Hmm?”

She hitches her legs higher around his hips, and he moans at the change in angle. “Can you go a little h-harder?” 

Barry pauses to look down at her with dark eyes and a grin. He tugs one of her legs even higher. “I can do whatever you need, Iris West.” 

Sweat dots the ends of his eyelashes and she leans up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Then get to it, Barry Allen.” 

“Hmm. _Someone_ has a smart mouth.” But he’s laughing, then biting her bottom lip, hard, before setting a rougher pace that quickly has them both gasping. The headboard slams against the wall repeatedly until he stuffs a fist behind it to muffle the noise. It doesn’t take long after that — he’s been touching her for what feels like hours and he hasn’t let her touch him back. They’re both embarrassingly close when he starts chanting her name.

It’s all Iris can do to roll her hips and keep pace with him, the sound of his wet skin slapping against hers as he pounds into her couples with their mutual moans. Then she’s begging for him to go _harder_ once, then twice, and he’s shouting and spilling into the condom, pumping into her relentlessly. Seeing him lose control sends her over, too, and she’s dizzy and her entire body is clenching and releasing over and over again. He keeps fucking her through her orgasm, one hand braced against the wall, the other planted next to her head. 

Finally he collapses on top of her, and she can still feel him twitching inside of her. It’s usually a sensation she’s not that into, but she doesn’t want him any further away than this. She kisses the closest part of him that her mouth can reach: his shoulder. 

Barry groans, exhausted. 

“You okay there?” She’s euphoric, laughing blearily, as he reaches down to hold the condom in place as he pulls out of her. He ties it off and tosses it into the trash can by the bed.

“I’m...amazing.” His arm is tossed over his face as he pants.

“Yeah, you are.” Iris smiles fondly at him.

He rewards her corny joke with a soft chuckle.

“I bet you’re also starving?” Iris is already sitting up, mentally going through what’s in her pantry. It’s a little sparse these days.

As if on cue, his stomach growls. “Iris, I know you don’t have any food here that’s not ice cream.”

“No, but I can have Korean here in 35 minutes if you ask nicely.” She twists back to drop a soft kiss on his open mouth. He tastes like Barry, electric and familiar.

“Mmm.” 

Iris grabs a robe and her phone and starts ordering, before heading into the kitchen to pull out a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon. 

She returns to the bedroom, watches him fondly for a moment, holding the ice cream and the spoon. “Food is on its way. But I happen to know you love ice cream.” She pads over to the bed, climbing onto it, and his eyes slit open to watch her warily. “I suppose, in your weakened state, I should take pity on you.”

Dipping a spoon into the tub, she brings some to his lips. His mouth opens and he takes the ice cream, licking the spoon clean. Barry eats the entire gallon, followed by some leftover pasta, a bag of tortilla chips, a carton of milk, and four apples.

Iris goes into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She stops at the mirror to look at herself. There are hickeys covering her collarbone and breasts — _no low cut tops this week, Iris_. Her toes curl into the shag rug. This week will mark a year and a half since Eddie died, and opened up a hole in her chest that she never thought would close.

There’s no pain now (though she’ll be sore in some interesting places in the morning, she’s sure). All she feels is warmth and anticipation for her future with Barry. 

“Food’s here!” 

Speaking of.


End file.
